Chapter 2
Chapter two
Jay
I’ve got a fucking toy airplane attached to my head.
The baby in front of me has spent the last ten minutes on and off wailing, Dad’s swearing under his breath, and Mom is trying to convince the goldendoodle not to eat the backdrop…
Happy Famileez Photography—with two e’s and a z—where joy comes to suffer under fluorescent lighting.
I adjust the softbox and turn on my customer-service smile. “Okay, we’re going to try the airplane one more time,” I say, because in the few months I’ve worked here, I’ve learned the airplane trick buys you exactly five usable frames before emotions win. “On three—one, two…”
Click. Click. Click.
The baby blinks mid-flash. The dog yawns.
Dad’s jaw is clenched, but at least everyone is looking at me this time.
I already know what the edit will be: clone out drool, soften under-eye circles, brighten the whites, create a holiday card that says, “We’re thriving.
” But it’s all fake… nothing like the athletes I used to capture, who can’t fake a thing on the field.
When I graduated with honors and a portfolio that was stellar, I thought I would get my dream job without issue.
I should be in Portland right now on the Jaguars’ media team, catching the split second the ball leaves a quarterback’s fingers in golden hour light.
Instead, I’m wearing a toy airplane on my head and removing snot in Lightroom.
There’s nothing wrong with my job; it’s a great job for those who want to photograph in studio sessions. There’s nothing wrong, except, it doesn’t bring me joy.
I finish the set, thank them with a practiced grin, and promise edits within fourteen business days.
As soon as they leave, I shut the blinds, turn off the lights, and flop onto the wheeled stool behind the computer.
I rub the back of my neck. My shoulders ache, a low-grade tension that’s always there lately.
Ever since graduation. Ever since I got that email.
I pull up the SD card and start uploading images to edit. The mom’s smile is blurry in the third shot, her head had turned just slightly, but she probably won’t notice. I start editing around the crying baby’s red cheeks.
My phone buzzes, and a notification banner slides across the top of the screen.
Hudson
Yo, I tried calling you yesterday to check if you got my voicemail.
Call me back!
A second later, a voice memo appears from someone else. I hesitate for a moment, then press play.
Daphne’s voice comes through, sounding slightly tinny, with background noise. “Jay, he won’t stop pacing about whether you’ll show tonight, he said something about a pregame ritual you guys do since he joined? If you can make it, I know he’d appreciate it.”
I smile before I realize I’m doing it. I miss my best friend. Things haven’t been the same since he got drafted to the Oregon Beavers. He’s often exhausted and busy being a dad and fiancé, and I never wanted to add to his plate.
His season started a few weeks ago, but tonight is his big night, since their linebacker got injured in the last game, he’s in. As if I’d miss my best friend’s debut NFL game. I was always going, I just haven’t managed to message him back yet.
I close my laptop, grab my jacket from the back of the chair, and head for the door, bringing the phone to my mouth as I tap the record button.
“Tell that loser that I was always going to be there tonight, I’m headed to the stadium now for our pregame thing.”
I let go for the voice message to send, watch the ticks turn blue, and then crying faces and hearts come through from him.
***
Hauling ass across town during a game takes longer than I wanted. By the time I reach the stadium, traffic’s a nightmare, and the parking lot is swarming with tailgaters still packing up.
I flash the family pass Hudson left for me at the players’ gate.
The security guy eyes it, eyes me, then waves me through after a bag check.
A volunteer hands me a lanyard that says Family & Guests in big block letters.
I thread it over my head and follow the signs through a concrete maze that smells like popcorn and Gatorade.
Waiting outside the locker room feels odd.
I haven’t been on this side of things for long, and all my muscle memory wants to be cleaning kit, getting SD cards ready, and taking pregame photos behind this door.
Reporters buzz past, trainers haul carts stacked with tape and water bottles, and every second makes me ache for what could’ve been.
A staffer finally pokes her head out, checks my badge, and looks back to someone. “Five minutes.”
Hudson’s with me in the hallway in a beat, bouncing on his toes. His face is lit up and wild, adrenaline already bleeding through his skin. “’Bout time, asshole.”
“Traffic,” I say, reaching into my jacket pocket. “But I brought your fix.”
I pull out the mini bag of caramel M&M’s and toss it to him.
His grin splits wide as he rips it open. “You’re the only man I trust with my game-day nutrition.” He eats one, then holds the bag out to me. “You have to eat them, too.”
I take one, even though I hate the caramel ones, but they’re his favorites.
That’s the deal—one for him, one for me.
It started when he got the job here. I happened to come by and give him a bag, and he claims it gave him good luck…
football players and their superstitions.
I’ll have to make sure I slip some in his locker or something if I can’t make it.
He grins around the caramel, and I get a flashback of two dumb kids in a high school locker room with more dreams than sense.
Only now, one of us is about to run onto an NFL field.
He chews and nods like the sugar just settled something in his blood. “Okay. Now we win.”
I clap his shoulder, the way I always do, trying to steady the storm of nerves I know will be vibrating under his skin. “Go play the game of your life, man.”
He goes back into the locker room with his team, and pride swells in my chest as I inhale, knowing he’s going to be amazing out there, but I can’t lie and say it doesn’t sting to not follow him.
I’ve watched him play more times than I can count.
I’ve been with him every step of his career, taking pictures for each team he was a part of.
My fingers itch to feel the click of a button, my eyes narrowed to see through the viewfinder of my favorite camera, the smell of the leather strap hanging around my neck.
Memories plague me of how many shots I’ve taken of my best friend on the field, and how badly I wish I were with him right now.
I didn’t apply to the Beavers, they had no openings, but the Jaguars did, and at least that kept me near my friends, my family… but I guess things don’t always work out.
This is different, this is his dream in real time. And as the crowd escalates around the stadium, readying their favorite team’s entrance, all I want to do is make sure he knows me and Daph are here watching him tonight. So I walk to the stands to join her.